Canada Dry
by uebermensch
Summary: Stuck at home with a bad cold, Eliza finds out just how much Henry cares. He checks in on her, and finally follows through by giving up the last vestige of control. Both discover they get more than what either could have possibly imagined. Elements drawn from 1x01, 1x03, and 1x10. COMPLETE (4 chapters).
1. Onset

**"CANADA DRY"**

Rated T for coarse and suggestive language. As long as I continue writing, this below is an enthusiastic 'thank-you-selfie' to "Selfie", along with gratitude to EK, KG, and JC. I've drawn some inspiration from prideandfangirling's "Honey Bears and Valentines" available here on AO3.

This story took a big life on its own, and I decided to split the story into multiple chapters. The story was fully completed before the first chapter was posted.

As of posting, the #saveSelfie petition has exceeded 60-thousand signatures. Congratulations to Erika Lawson and others on a big accomplishment. Even though Gillan and Harewood have signed onto new shows, no matter what happens, it's been and still is a fun ride.

In a way, I can almost imagine the following as a "series finale" in reference to the pilot (1st) episode: Eliza's lack of real friends, and asking for someone to get her some ginger ale ...

**Summary**: Stuck at home with a bad cold, Eliza finds out just how much Henry cares. He checks in on her, and finally follows through by giving up the last vestige of control. Both discover they get more than what either could have possibly imagined. Elements drawn from 1x01, 1x03, and 1x10.

* * *

**Chapter 1 : ONSET**

He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time in the last 15 minutes. He frowned, considering how she'd been much better of late about showing up to work on time. Especially now that she no longer had to spend 3 hours "upending her bed head."

Although he admitted to himself she'd look really cute with bed head ...

But anyhoo, she was very much on time for lunch; she would arrive at his office to remind **him** about lunch. A hungry Eliza was an impatient Eliza.

Henry poked his head out of his office. "Charlie, have you seen Eliza today?"

"Uhhhhhh no," Charlie answered, slowly yet deliberately. "I haven't. Should I call her?"

"No, thanks. I'm sure she'll show up later in the afternoon."

Charlie nodded, and returned to organizing Henry's meetings with a variety of clients over the next three days.

By mid-afternoon, she still hadn't shown up at KinderKare. Henry had cancelled all appointments and meetings for the rest of the day, and left work early. Earlier, he had lunch alone, and he finally reached the point to admitting he was worried, and by 1pm, he had called both her iPhone and landline. To his surprise (and secret delight), she answered on the latter.

"Hellooo? Henry, if this is you, this had better be good ..."

"Eliza ...!"

"Hi, Henry, how are you?"

"Hey, are you okay? You sound ... a little weird ..."

"I'm sick! Had a tickle in my throat yesterday, thought I'd beat it down last night, but woke up like abso friggin' crap this

morning. Tickle turned into the cough from hell, and now my nose leaks like a ..."

"Stop right there; I don't need to know. I'm sorry you're sick, Eliza. Is there something I can do?"

The conversation paused long enough Henry was afraid their connection had cut out. "Eliza ...?"

"Still here. Uhm ... I don't want to get you sick ..."

"Eliza, you're my friend. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't serious about helping. You don't have Ebola, do you?"

"Hah! No, but who the hell gets sick in Los Angeles?! Uuuurrgh, this feels like a bad cold." He heard muffled sniffling. "Could you do me a big favor and bring me some soup?"

"No problem. What kind of soup would you like?"

"I'd like chicken noodle soup. Could you go to the deli just down the street from me and see if they have some?"

He knew the one from the number of casual meals they had there. "Yes, I can do that. I'll pick up a couple of blueberry blintzes, if you're up for that, too."

"Thanks, Henry! You're the bes ... aaaaachhooo! Ewww, gross ..."

"T-M-I, Eliza. Be there in an hour."

Bags of food in hand, he walked through the front door to the apartment building, strode past unattended reception, and stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button labeled '3'. He was just finishing a text message to Eliza, letting her know he was on the way up.

If the elevator had been occupied with other people, they would've seen a thoughtful if distracted look to the smartly dressed man.

It was evident to Henry (and Saperstein and Charmonique) that over the last few weeks, Freddy had become uncomfortable with the new-old Eliza. Freddy, owner of the Adonis belt (whatever the hell that meant, and Charmonique hadn't been forthcoming), seemed lost around her, and alarmingly insecure in the way he related to her.

Not that Henry had noticed ... much. Ultimately, Freddy didn't seem to know where he stood with the new-and-improved Eliza.

Eliza had outgrown Freddy. She might've been hells hot for him, but it had become clear she had surpassed her desire for him. After going hot and heavy with Freddy, it was as if the flame burned and cooled just as quick. They were back to being colleagues, though his recent appearance and composure had seemed less smooth and organized.

For Henry's part, a part of him liked to think that he had some role to play in changing Eliza. But the truth was far simpler: she had done all the heavy lifting. Her strength of character had shone through. Who had returned was the young Eliza who had been true to herself all those years ago.

He was fairly certain Eliza and Freddy were no longer a couple, even as she had stopped talking about her sex life (thank god) and lately, she had stopped mentioning Freddy altogether (which was interesting). He felt better, a little more certain about reading signs or whatever cues she was willing to throw his way.

He'd also been willing to wait, but there were times he wasn't sure about those signs. Occasionally, he'd caught Eliza looking at him, and every time she'd look at him in a strange yet contemplative way.

So, Henry waited for a clear signal from Eliza. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off, but on the other hand, he knew she wouldn't and shouldn't wait for him. If he wasn't careful, some guy out there would also realize how fantastic a woman Eliza really was.

He realized he'd have to step up to the plate soon, and make a pitch for the angels ... specifically, one angel ... more specifically, his red-headed angel ...

His arrival on the third floor was met with the usual "ding!" Henry stepped out of the elevator, and as he walked down the hallway to Eliza's apartment, he saw the door to 308 open. Out walked Bryn, whom he labeled as 'that cute hipster pixie who called him out as someone who sucked at burns.'

That was odd; he thought he detected a whiff of something dead. He shook his head of the random thought.

"Hi, Bryn."

"Henry! Hi! What are you doing here?"

"Eliza's sick, so I thought I'd pop by."

"Really?"

"I hadn't heard from her since last night, not even a text, which was unusual ..."

"Why's that?"

"Well ... she's one of the few who sends me any texts, and she sends me a flurry of them. Every day."

"I haven't seen her today either. You called her?"

"Yeah, I talked to her a couple of hours ago."

She gave him an odd look. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Yes, but ... now, I'm not."

"Let me get this straight. It's the middle of the afternoon, and you took time off work to come all the way here to see if she was okay, and you brought food with you?"

"Uh, yeah ...?"

Bryn smiled, betraying little except someone in possession of a secret that seemed to have left him, and only him, out in the cold.

"Henry, I have to let you in on something. Eliza hasn't been the greatest neighbor. Actually, she's been careless, thoughtless, irritating, ..."

He nodded at that, a little snort and small side-grin in acknowledgement.

"... but, she's been different of late. Her look and dress have changed; softened, actually. She wears glasses ... and they're funky! Don't tell her I said that. And she says hello and we'll have an actual conversation with complete sentences, ones that don't involve acronyms."

Bryn looked at Henry thoughtfully, her index finger tapping against her lips.

"You have something to do with that, don't you?"

"Me? What makes you say that?"

She eyed him carefully, figuring something out. "This change happened right around the time you showed up ..."

"Complete coincidence."

Bryn opened her mouth in disbelief. "Nooooo. It's not coincidence. You may be in denial, but it's plain obvious to me, Wren, Prue, Thistle, and Eyelet. We've been trying to figure out what your deal is. Especially with you and that Jerry Maguire move ..."

"That wasn't ... that wasn't what it looked like ..."

"... but it's obvious you're not together. Not yet. So we're wondering why you haven't made your move ..."

"Wait. You've **all** been wondering? Don't you all have better things to do?"

"Truth is, she's asked me for advice. And besides, we girls talk, and we know everything."

"Yeah, no shit," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Uh ... nothing ..."

"Sure, whatever." Bryn eyed him skeptically. "I know things got a little weird between you and Eliza, when you started dating someone else ..."

"Julia. And Eliza was dating Freddy at the time. Just how much has Eliza told you? No, wait, never mind, don't answer that." Henry nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I had no idea I was that obvious."

"Yeah, guys are usually the last to know," she nodded.

He opened his mouth, but no comeback was forthcoming.

"You really suck at burns, you know that, don't you?"

He had to laugh at that. "I know. Between you and me, Bryn, I think Eliza and I are good together. Maybe it's time ..."

Bryn perked up. "What? Really?"

"Uh, yeah, sometime ... soon ..." His retreat was a well-practiced move.

She rolled her eyes. "Henry. Look, I can tell you're not a serial dater or a player. When it comes right down to it, you're serious. Too serious, perhaps, but serious when things matter. You know what she said to me one time? She said you were the only real friend she's ever had."

"I like to think you and Eliza have become friends over time, too."

"Yeah, when I'm not trying to think of ways to strangle her ..."

He laughed at that. "I can imagine. Thank you, thanks for telling me. You seem to have given a great deal of thought about Eliza and me." He was glad he could tell someone else how he felt, someone outside of work, even if they were Eliza's next-door neighbor. Bryn might not be his biggest fan, but he sensed she had a good heart and an equally good read of the situation.

She smiled. "That involves a longer conversation, one with a bloody nose and a few bruises." She rubbed her arms, wincing at the memory. At his look of confusion, she continued. "Never mind, that's for another time. I have to get going, but talk to her. And good luck."

"Thanks again, Bryn."

She smiled, leaving him alone with his thoughts, and walked to the elevator.

"Hey, Bryn? One more thing ..."

She turned to look at him. "What's that, Henry?"

"If no one's mentioned this before, thank you for Eliza's 'make under' awhile back for a work wedding event. Given what I know about she's behaved with you and others in book club, your help was very kind and generous."

"You're welcome. You'll have to tell me some time how the wedding went."

He chuckled at the memory. "Yes, well, now **that** involves a longer conversation, too."

"I'm sure. You should know Wren and Eyelet were there to help, too. See you ..."

He watched her step into the elevator, before turning around to knock on the door marked '307'.

The door opened to an unexpected sight.


	2. Hashtag-thestruggle

Henry watched Bryn step into the elevator, before turning around to knock on the door marked '307'.

The door opened to an unexpected sight.

* * *

**Chapter 2 : #thestruggle**

A red-headed woman appeared, wrapped up to her neck in blankets. Poking through the bottom of her cocoon were sock-covered feet enveloped in pink bunny-eared slippers. Although shorter, her neck-long hair was tied up in a bun, stray strands angled in crazy directions. She wore no makeup, but had her glasses on. An unusual sight, perhaps, but not so strange for a person with a bad cold. She might've looked disheveled, but damn, he thought to himself, he really liked the way those glasses looked on her. She looked like the most beautiful creature in the world.

_Whoa there, Higgs. _"Hey ..."

"Hey! Come on in, Henry; sorry about the mess ..."

He looked down at the strewn debris of battle. Little mounds of used tissue scattered like spent artillery. A pile of fashion magazines. A plate here, fork and knife there; a couple of cups and dirty plates completed the picture.

"Don't worry about it." _I'll have to do something about the mess once I'm sure she's asleep_, he thought. He held up the bags of food. "I was going to put this away, unless you feel up to eating now."

"Oh yeah, the smells just hit me. I'm hells haaaangry ..."

"OK. Sit yourself back on the couch, and I'll bring out a bowl of soup."

She reached out, grabbing his arm. "Thank you, Henry," she said in a small voice. "I'd hug you, but I'm ... uh ..."

"Sick?" He smiled, indulging her with the obvious.

"Yeah, obvs." She replied in a small voice, pouting a little in self-pity. "Totes ..."

He gave her a quick smile, squeezing her hand on his arm.

She shuffled to the couch, sat down, and rearranged the blankets around her. She leaned back, looking into the open kitchen adjacent to her living room. With all the time they'd spent here, he was at ease and familiar with her apartment.

_Except her bedroom_, she thought.

She had already decided awhile ago she liked seeing him putter about in her place. She got a big rush of the warm fuzzy feels, his familiar presence comfortably navigating drawers and cupboards in her kitchen.

Henry found a serving tray on which he placed a spoon, a knife, a square of paper towel for a napkin, a bowl of steaming chicken-noodle soup, a plate with a fresh bagel cut in half, and a pat of butter on the side.

"Here you go." He placed the tray on the circular end table next to the couch. "I hope you don't mind, but I put the blintzes in your fridge for the time being."

"You take such good care of me," she said unthinkingly. She looked up to see if he caught that. He did, his eyebrows raised high. She didn't even try to take it back.

After an awkward pause, he replied. "I try ..."

"Sometimes, I think I don't deserve it."

"Nonsense, Eliza. It's what friends do."

She giggled softly. "Friends ... you know that might be the first time we've said that out loud."

"Really? Yeah, well, we are ... now eat, before the soup gets cold."

She pushed the blankets aside and reached for the soup. He returned to the kitchen for his take-out container. By the time he returned to the couch, she was slurping away at her soup.

"Hungry, were you?" He said with a smile.

"Yeah, very ... what did you get? Don't tell me: another salad?"

"No, not a salad."

She stopped. "Whaaat? Who are you, and what did you do with Henry? You didn't get salad?"

"I don't always get salad, you know." He said a little defensively.

"Uh hello, I'm Eliza: nice to meet you. As the undisputed King of Salad, you're so deep in the roughage, even the leaves are green with envy."

He laughed at that. "Good burn. I thought I'd eat something different today."

"Please don't make me guess! What'd you get?"

He reached into the container. "I got a sesame bagel with cream cheese and lox."

_Woah_, she thought. _One_, t_hat looks gooood; and two, time to play ..._

She placed the soup slowly and carefully back down onto the tray. She leaned over to him, turning on the charm. "Henrrrryyyyy, can I have some?"

He was immune to her charm ... most of the time. "Eliza, you have a perfectly good bagel, right in front of you."

"Yes, I'm good, but yours is even better; yours has cream cheese and lox."

"Oh, I see. And this is your idea of being 'good'?"

"Henry, do you want to see me 'bad'?"

See, this was what he was talking about, the odd looks, and the uptempo in innuendo.

He swallowed the sudden lump in this throat, for precisely two reasons.

One, if this was flirting (because he was kinda sure it was), this could go ... well ... bad. So bad that it could be good ... really good in fact ... no, wait ...

Two, if it was just about the lox (because he was sure it was also about the lox), then he could simply relent and stop this dangerous game.

Either way, this would probably not end well for him.

Which could be good. Or bad.

He shook his head, and saw Eliza looking at him expectantly.

"Fine, but ..." He stopped her just as she sprung for his bagel. "Wait! I'm going to cut a piece for you. There's no way you're going to take a bite of that. I don't want to catch your cold ..."

"Oh, please, I bet you twenty you'll catch my cold in the next 72 hours."

Well, those were plain 'fighting words.' "You're on ... and no, I'm not shaking your hand. But the bet? It's on."

Shuffling her bagel onto the tray, he put his bagel onto the plate and cut off a quarter-portion. As he returned the plate to her, she grabbed the portion and ate hungrily.

"Thank you, Henrrryyyyy."

"You're most welcome." He placed her untouched bagel onto the plate, and back onto her tray.

"Mmmmm, awwww, the noms, so good ..."

"Glad you like it. Now please finish your soup."

He knew her well enough to know she was probably not going to finish her bagel, and began spreading some butter before cutting her bagel into quarter sections.

They ate in companionable silence, occasionally looking at each other, either in warm gratitude or with unresolved longing. Sometimes, gratitude and longing would switch unknowingly from one person to the other, and back again.

She finished her soup, a quarter of his bagel, and half of her own bagel.

"Have you had enough to eat? I could bring the blintzes, if you want something sweet."

"No, that's okay." She leaned back on the couch in a slouch, patting her full belly. "Totes full; thank you."

With results of their lunch gathered to the side, he leaned back, next to her on the couch. "Don't mention it."

"Oh, I think I ate too much ..." She stuck her lower lip out, seeking extra sympathy.

"Awwww, poor baby ..." he replied. Acting on impulse, he reached out and gently rubbed her belly. "Does that feel better?"

"Yyy-e-a-sss ..."

"Uhm ... do ... do you want me to stop?"

"No ... don't ... please don't stop ..."

"Okay ..."

They couldn't stop looking at each other.

Long warm minutes passed. Suddenly uncomfortable at their quiet newfound intimacy, she gently put her hand on his to stop his movements. "I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you some water ..."

"No, that's all right; I'll get it."

He closed his eyes, thinking he'd done something wrong or scared her. She read him very easily, and while she wanted him to open his eyes and see that it was in fact okay, she was feeling a little raw from his gentle touch (strokes!) to talk about what was happening between them.

She got to her feet when her world started spinning. "Whoa ..."

"Hey, I've got you ..." He stood quickly at her side, catching her by the arms and preventing her fall.

Even though she had an inch or two on him, he lifted and carried her in his arms.

"Guess I've still got some way to go before I get better ..."

He glanced worriedly at her. "Eliza, let's get you back into bed ..."

Normally, she'd be all over that little gem. All she had in reply was looping her arms and hands around his neck.

He gently put her back in bed, ensuring her head and neck were fully supported by pillows, and she was sufficiently warm under blankets. He made a quick check, and after a couple of minutes in and out of her bedroom, he placed a box of tissues and a glass of water onto her bedside table.

She was quickly out, snoring lightly. Satisfied she was comfortable, he returned to her living room to collect the remnants of their lunch and begin tidying up her place.

He collected and washed her dishes, followed by the collection and disposal of her garbage. He dared not touch the mass and piles of clothes in various places around her living room: on the top of the couch, on her one-seater, on her small round table, and on the rolling racks. He might push her on certain things, but on clothes? He knew that'd be a very fiery angry bridge too far.

All done, he collapsed on her couch, stretching out for a quick nap. Normally averse to someone else's blankets, he found to his surprise that in this situation he didn't care. He could admit he probably had been exposed to whatever she had. But fact is he liked the delicate floral smell, which was a contrast to the "heavier touch" she usually applied. He lifted a couple of her blankets against the back of her couch and covered himself. He closed his eyes, secretly soaking up her scent, the vision of Eliza providing comfort, as he drifted farther and farther away ...

He awoke to a small sound, briefly disoriented by his surroundings. He checked his watch; he'd been asleep for a couple of hours. He stood and moved towards her bedroom to have a look at how she was doing.

He stepped inside her bedroom and stopped at the foot of her bed. She was fully buried underneath blankets, but he could hear her breathing was a little uneven. She was awake.

"Henry?" A small muffled voice came from beneath the layered pile.

"Yes, Eliza?"

"Thank you."

"You're wel ..."

"No, really," as she pushed back the blankets, ensuring no ambiguity as she looked at him. "Thank you, I mean it."

In moments where instant decisions are made, he'd later reflect that this particular moment was very important. He didn't run, he didn't leave. He didn't speak, he didn't stammer.

He stepped around to her side of the bed. Her eyes followed him, as he sat at the edge of her bed. He gazed openly at her, one of the few times where he could really look, no longer hindered by the social aspects of keeping niceties and appropriate distance. His eyebrows furrowed, his breathing quickened; his eyes never wavered from hers. He felt a deep wave, rising from within, something warm, peaceful, soothing, adoring.

He reached out with his hand and gently parted wayward strands of hair, away from her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears.

She closed her eyes at this tender touch, and leaned towards him when he cupped her cheek, his thumb slowly caressing her skin.

He marveled at her; her eyes open again, huge, round, full of life; an open window to all sorts of intriguing possibilities. She put her hand against his, trapping his hand against her cheek.

Silence continued along with quiet sounds of their breathing.

"What are we doing?" she asked in a whisper, breaking the spell.

He chuckled softly. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

She laughed, which led to a bout of hacking cough. They released their hold on each other. Breaking contact made them ache fiercely with the loss of the other's warmth.

Henry stood. "I'm going to make you some hot tea ... but uh ... do you have tea?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, practically rolling her eyes. "There's some herbal stuff in the kitchen." He had already walked into the kitchen, when he could hear her yell out to him. "I've got honey in the cupboard! Some honey in my tea, too, please ..."

Henry returned with a steaming mug of tea in hand. She sat up in bed, against pillows and blankets bunched around her waist. She was on her iPhone, no doubt checking up on everything she was missing.

"Here you go ... be careful, it's vey hot ..."

"Thanks ..."

"I put in a teaspoon of honey, so it's not too sweet."

"OK." She sipped carefully at the hot liquid.

He looked down at her uncertainly, a troubled look on his face.

"Henry, what's wrong?"

"Can we talk? I know it might not be the right time, with you being sick and all ..."

"Helloooo, have you met us? When **is** the right time with us? Hashtag-the-struggle ..."

He chuckled. "I guess you're right."

"Yes, I am." She smiled with the familiar conviction that was pure Eliza. She set the mug gingerly on the nightstand. "Sit here next to me, and spill."

He hesitated, but with the "no fear" mantra screaming in his head, he sat next to her covered legs. The warmth he felt from her underneath those blankets was just in his mind: wasn't it?

"Eliza ... I ..."

She put her hands on his for comfort and support. "Seriously. You can talk to me."

"Okay." He started again. "Sometimes ... you scare the hell out of me."

Her eyes opened wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"


	3. Surrender

Eliza put her hands on Henry's for comfort and support. "Seriously. You can talk to me."

"Okay." He started again. "Sometimes ... you scare the hell out of me."

Her eyes opened wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

* * *

**Chapter 3 : SURRENDER**

Henry slowed his breathing, steeling himself. "Do you remember what you told me the first day we met?"

"What, how you didn't like me?"

"I never said that ..."

"You totally did ..."

"Okay, well ... I might've mentioned how you weren't very well liked at work ..."

She tilted her head at him. "You used the word `despised' ..." The tone in her voice challenged him to disagree.

"Yes, okay, I said that, too, but what I was trying to point out ... was how you said you had no real friends."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, that. All the same, from where I speak, I don't have many non-work friends other than our colleagues at work."

"You don't have **any** non-work friends ..."

"Eliza, you're killing me here ... and I'm trying to make a point ..."

"Sorry ..."

"Out of all the people you chose to help you, I was a ... less than ideal choice. It's like you said: I'm an unfun, anti-social, hypercritical workaholic ..."

She winced, hearing her own words echoed back in a less than complimentary manner. She didn't like it when anyone spoke poorly of him, especially Henry himself. The wince turned to a gut twinge when she remembered her own unkind thoughts about Henry. But that was then, and this was now.

"Funny thing is, people at work **have** become friends. Charmonique, though I suspect she wants me to become Kevin's alternate "father figure". Larry, despite his heinous breath and inexplicable love of tearaway suits and flashmobs. Linda, Raj, and yes, when he isn't pulling some batshit crazy stunt, even Freddy, when he isn't being a ..."

"Don't say it .."

" ... frenemy ..."

"Uuuugggghh, when you say it, that word **sucks** ..."

"Sam and his family: they like us, too. And by the way, you and I have been invited for a casual weekend getaway for a return to Rancho de Saperstein in Santa Barbara."

"We're not ... together. Do they know that?"

"I was reluctant to bring it up, but I think they invited us so we could get together. It's another reason why I'm bringing this up, why I'm talking about ..." He motioned the space between them with his hands. "... About us."

She nodded. She couldn't run if she wanted to, and besides, she wanted him to talk. And talk he was doing, even if a part of her wanted to crawl and hide under the covers.

"Besides, Sam told me the entire family really liked having you around, which means this time? If we go? **I'll** be the plus-one."

She burst out laughing. Conscious of her cough, she reached over for her mug of tea and took a big sip.

"The way it's **always** supposed to be ..." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Hey! But seriously, yeah, we'll say hi to Oprah, go for walks around the lake, minus the skinny-dipping. We might even go horse-riding ..."

She smiled at that, remembering that classic life-defining moment very fondly.

"I thought you hated that shit."

"I do ... I did. But it's your shit I've come to like ..."

And oh, how she blushed at that! An adorable rosy shade on her cheeks countered the nervous look in her eyes. If he had dared to stop, he might have called her adorable, rumpled, and fetching.

"It comes down to you, Eliza." he continued. "I wasn't having any fun until you came along, and completely disrupted my ordered, regularly-scheduled, well-meaning, boring life. Crushed it into a million pieces, and pieced them back together in crazy shapes and wonderful colors. Your fingerprints are all over my life. You're the most important person in my life. "

"I am? You really think that way about me?"

"Totally. We spend a lot of time together, and we've become close friends. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, but I ... I never thought about it much until now. Or put it so much into words." She was only fibbing to give themselves a possible out.

"Who's lying now?"

"Whaa ..."

"You **never** thought about it? Because let me tell you, I'll never wear that black jacket in the same way ever again."

"Okay! Okay! I admit it ... I admit there was a moment when I was thinking about you ... " _All the time._

"We never talk about it."

"About ..." She knew where he was going, but she was afraid to revisit her misery and heartbreak.

He reached over, taking the mug and placed the mug onto her night stand. He wrapped his hands around hers.

"Eliza, I'm so sorry. I'm very sorry I rejected you. I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I pushed you ... and ... you weren't ready ..." She couldn't look at him in the eyes.

"Eliza, please look at me ..." He gently tipped her chin to face him.

Her pain had dulled over time with his enduring presence and the soothing solace of their friendship, but his rejection still had the might to wound.

"Eliza, you were right. Every word of it."

"And because my feels got real, they ... I made you face the way you felt about me. And that's why you ran."

"Exactly. And why was I afraid? Why it is that you still scare me? I realized I didn't want to jeopardize what we have, what we were, what we are to each other. I've never had anyone in my life like you."

"You've spent months trying to impress upon me the value of manners, good behavior, and the long game when it comes to making friends. You dropped it, I got it: some wisdom, your time, your friendship, and ... your love. I was listening. I was paying attention. I know you were paying attention; so you should've known that, seen the signs, too. And because I let you in, first the bits and pieces, and then a bigger portion of my life ... Henry, you should've trusted me."

Her words were quiet, said without hostility. And yet, they stuck like little knives.

"I know ... do you forgive me?"

"I forgave you awhile ago, but I didn't forget. I didn't think I wanted to talk about it, and I def thought **you** didn't either. Soooo now, your thinking has changed?"

"Not just my thinking, Eliza ... my feelings have changed."

That brought a little smile from her. "Care to share?" She yawned.

"I've learned there's no such thing as an ideal time. That's something you taught me, Eliza: to live in the moment. And it's time. This is the moment. But I'm afraid, of how you might react. That I'm being so forward ... after all this time. It's just that I ... I have to ... I want to tell you ... that ... "

He swallowed and looked away. He removed his hands from hers, and dry-washed his face with one hand. He took another deep breath, and began again.

"I read a description sometime ago which I think is appropriate here. Sometimes, I think we're all about "blood and thunder": heart-pumping situations that are grand and special. And sometimes, I think we've become mired in the "thud and blunder", and how we're each making bad choices and we're fumbling around, lost in the dark. Because we're unable to take that last step together."

"I understand there's a part of you who will always feel a little abandoned. The way you felt all those years ago when your parents broke up and divorced, birthdays alone, eating lunch at school on your own, when Bethany went off to college. So you put it all on yourself, to change the old Eliza into the new one. You modeled yourself into someone like Corynn McWatters, so you didn't have to face the world with your 'real self'. But when you found out she stole **your** story to become successful, you felt abandoned again."

He couldn't look at her; afraid if he did, he'd freeze on the spot. Hearing a soft agreeable "mmm hmm", he paused for another moment to gather himself.

"But now, this time, you felt you had completely surrendered your old self all those years ago, and you thought she'd never come back. She's always been there; she never left. I've seen it, I've felt it. And every time I look at you, I see in your eyes those different parts to Eliza Dooley. The lonely young girl who has a big heart, the amazing confident woman who sees what she wants and who won't take crap from anyone. The more time I spent with you, the more I got to know you, the more I got to really see this wonderful side of you. And ... I fell in love with that woman."

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"And I see the way you look at me, the way your eyebrows scrunch up and there's a little wrinkle right above your nose. You don't think I know, but I notice. I notice the way you look at me, too. I know for a fact you feel this thing between us, too. I want more, and I think you want more, too. I don't want to threaten our friendship, but I'll make this promise, that no matter what happens, I won't abandon you. Does ... does that ... make any sense to you?"

He exhaled slowly. She seemed awfully quiet, and he was afraid to turn and see disappointment or pity. He turned his head to look.

She was asleep.

_You have got to be kidding me._ He made a small noise in irritation, and looked up to the ceiling.

_Of course, she's asleep. Well, she's got a bad cold. And making her deal with this long-awaited conversation probably took a lot out of her. I can understand that._

Yes, he was frustrated; no, he was not discouraged. He supposed there would be another time to continue the conversation. Trouble is he had spent his saved-up emotional currency. Did he still have enough in the tank to spend it on her again?

_Yes, she's worth every penny._

Her eyes were closed, a small smile on her face, her normal breathing punctuated by a slight snore. Careful not to wake her, he removed her glasses gently from her face, and set them down on the end table. He got up from her bed, and tucked the rest of the blankets up by her shoulders. He walked to the bedroom door, and turned once more to look at her. He stepped out, gently closing the door behind him.

He was exhausted. The emotional strain had taken a toll, and its release, however healthy, open, and necessary, demanded replenishment. He threw himself onto the couch, threw a blanket over him, and he was 'lights out'.

The little noises from the living room eventually subsided to a quiet calm.

In the bedroom, her breathing slowly increased and she opened her eyes.

She heard everything. Every single word.

Twenty minutes later, the thought kept repeating in her head.

_I'm trapped in my own apartment ... but I could go out, and I'll see him in my living room. Whether I'll be able to look him in the eye might be another matter entirely ... and ... now that I know ... he loves me ..._

She need not have worried. She still felt like crap. Her mug was empty, and she wanted more tea. She'd have to go out at some point, and face him ...

Slowly, he stirred awake. He pushed the blankets to the side against the couch. He pushed his legs out and over, and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.

Checking his watch told him he'd been out for thirty minutes. He stood up and raised his hands in the air, stretching out the kinks in his back. He never would have imagined the instructional sessions he had here with Eliza were also in turn educational for him.

He now had a rare opportunity to take in the surroundings and gaze freely at her drawings on the apartment walls. He'd spent enough time here to know she harbored a a wildly creative side. Judging by the wonderfully colorful chalk sketches on the black portions of her apartment's walls, there were shopping motifs with big desires and equally large wish-lists for new shoes and purses, as well as a number of etiquette tips he'd passed along to her.

The tip over her bedroom read: "Don't eat over the TRASH CAN."

Another two things in her living room caught his eye. Between the old fireplace and her one-seater, he found a red waste bin with an old fashioned red English telephone booth on the side; it was the same one he had Charlie buy for her. She did say it was 'cute', but he thought it was 'super cute' she had kept it as a keepsake. Next to her bedroom doors was a drawing of a cloud with the words "shoes shoes shoes" and underneath was a small red heart pierced with an arrow. Inside the heart were the initials "S.Q. + B.B.".

'Social Queen' and 'Bore-ah Bore-ah': one of their inside jokes.

They had once talked about places where they wanted to go on vacation: she wanted to go to Hong Kong for the shopping and fast WiFi, and he wanted to go to Bora Bora. She had mocked him, because it sounded so "boring boring."

He had been offended then. Now he felt affection and longing. Oh how he wanted to barge back into her bedroom, wake her up, and kiss her snot-covered face. The desire was overwhelming.

He found a piece of colored chalk, and next to "S.Q. + B.B.", he wrote a note in large hard-to-miss letters.

**This chicken is no longer afraid. I'm ready. Are you? B.B.**

He could erase it and she'd never be the wiser. But he wasn't afraid any more, and there were no takebacks.

He set down the chalk, and returned to the couch. He was neatly folding the blankets when the bedroom doors opened.

A rumpled looking Eliza shuffled towards him. She appeared half-awake, face contorted in hazy sleep, lips twitching in irritation.

She padded past him and plopped herself onto the couch.

"Can I stop being sick now?" she looked up at him forlornly.

He sat down next to her, draping her shoulders with one arm, holding her free hand with the other. She looked at him tentatively, even though he was looking at their joined hands. Decision made, she leaned against him, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Sucks being sick ...," he said.

"Don't I know it ... unnh, tummy's feelin' funny ..."

"I'm sorry ..."

She grabbed his hand and placed it flat on her belly. The warm feels bubbled and flowed freely. He held her comfortably for a few minutes, before recognition struck Henry.

"Hey, I just remembered. I also got your some ginger ale just in case, and it's in my car. Would you like me to get it? It's no trouble ..."

"Could you ...?"

He squeezed her. "I'll go get it."

He walked to the front door and turned around. "I won't be long." He closed the door quietly behind him.

With the front door closed, she sat up at the edge of the couch, her thoughts racing a mile a minute. They were on the rapid road to being together. She could almost taste it, the delicious promise of something wonderful within reach.

He hadn't been gone for than a couple minutes, but she missed him terribly. She was already pining, totes hard, even though they weren't even a couple! She smiled with that realization, that same understanding on that very night she broke up with Freddy the first time.

She turned around when something caught her eye. Something was different in the room ...

And there underneath the cloud of "shoes shoes shoes", she saw it.

She read the message she didn't write. And then, she read it again.

Her first reaction? She melted, a warm bubbling up from somewhere inside her gut, stretching upwards, enveloping her heart, and continuing upwards, when finally, the warmth reached her brain.

And her second reaction? There were a few tears. Very happy tears.

She knew what she had to do next.


	4. Full Circle

**Chapter 4: FULL CIRCLE**

He almost made it out the building's front door.

Audio notification on his mobile: text message received.

From the only person who texted him regularly.

He reactivated his phone and read the new message. He was surprised she found his note so quickly; he was equally surprised by her swift response.

=== E: Totes ready. I'm ready for us. Like no-bullshit legit ready. #thetimeisnow

=== E: Happy you caught up. But don't make me wait. LOL ;) :-* 3

He wore the face of a happy hopeful man.

=== H: I'll be quick I'm coming back.

He retrieved the case of ginger ale, and flush with her emojis, he returned to her building. Walking up to the elevator, he passed an elderly gentleman attending reception. Unfortunately, the elevator had returned to the top floor. He pressed the "up" button. He pressed it again. And again. And again.

_Does this button even do anything?! What's the point of this button?_, he thought, unknowingly echoing from what the annals of Eliza-and-Henry would be known as "the elevator incident."

As the man at reception began eyeing Henry a little suspiciously, Henry looked over apologetically. "Sorry ..."

A very long minute later, the elevator arrived on the ground floor with a friendly "ding!"

As he pressed the button for '3', he received another text.

=== E: `SUP?

The phrase had become something of another inside joke between them. But this was no query, because this was simply a very impatient Eliza.

=== H: `SUP, yourself. Elevator took its damn sweet time.

=== E: `SSSSUP?!

=== H: Eliza ... I'm almost there.

=== E: SRS, dude. Not. Fast. Enough.

He laughed.

=== H: SRSLY.

He shut off the phone and tucked it away. He might have been her mentor (plainly ignoring the word "elder"), but where the art of texting was concerned, he had learned from one of the best in social media.

When the elevator door opened on the third floor, he walked out into the hallway and turned left to find the door to 307 wide open. An expectant Eliza stood in the doorway, left arm extended with her hand against the door jamb; head bent low; bright knowing eyes beaming at him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Uh, you're sick, and you should be in bed ...," he said from the hallway, approaching her front door.

"If you think that way and feel that way, why did you come back?" She asked, her chin jutting out defiantly, both hands now on her hips.

He held up a case of Canada Dry in the air. "I got you your ginger ale."

She nodded, a little smile on her face, still enormously touched he remembered that little detail.

He walked right up to her. "Besides, I care about you. I want to make sure you get better as quickly as possible."

"I'll feel a whole lot better once you're inside, Henry." She stepped to the side, allowing him just enough space to enter her apartment.

"Guess I'll just have to make sure ...", he said as he walked past her, making sure he trailed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing her arm, and trailing off at her fingers. " ... that I tuck you in myself ..."

"Henry, you tease!" She closed the door to her apartment, and turned to face him. "Right now, I'm not thinking about tucking, but something else that rhymes with tucking ..."

Having placed the case of ginger ale on the floor next to her couch, he turned to her, looking suitably scandalized. "Eliza!"

"Henry, I know you're thinking about it too; don't lie to me."

"It's not exactly a lie if I'm not actually thinking about it ..."

She made a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well ... okay ... yes ... I'm thinking about it, too ..."

"AHA! That's more like it ... aaaaaaahccchooooo! Euurrrgh!" Embarrassed, she went in search for a tissue or two.

"Wait, I have some for you ..." He removed his jacket and reached in his pocket for a packet of tissues, coming equipped just for the occasion.

"Thannng yuuu ..." she replied through a wad of tissues. She blew her nose a couple of times and tossed the wad aside onto the floor.

"Elizaaaa," he said in his most long-suffering Higgsian tone. "I just picked up all the crap you had on your floor ..."

"Oh sorry." She looked sheepish. "Thank you, you really didn't have to."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. "It's okay. I wanted to."

"Right now, there **is** one thing I'd like to do."

"What's that?"

"It's this ..." She grabbed him by his shirt collar, hooking her arms behind his neck, and running her fingers through his hair. He had no choice but to hold her by the waist.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Unless I really am grossing you out ..."

"No! No ... I came back up here to tell you in person: I'm ready."

"I don't know, Henry. I think this image you have of me right now might be a little butt ..."

"No, you aren't. I personally guarantee that the person I'm seeing right now is most ... definitely ... not ... butt. What I see is my beautiful friend with perfectly symmetrical features and hair like Ariel." She blushed, looking briefly away. "But I would like to ask," he continued. "Do you think you're a better person?" He smiled at their little game, going back to their very first conversation.

Her eyes fluttered back to his, and her smile shone brightly. "Yes, thanks to you. And with you here, with me: totes ... a-ly ..."

He leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips to hers.

To share a kiss. To taste her breath. To seal what had been a long time in coming.

After a long slow heated gentle brush of their lips, she tilted her head to look at him. "Oh my God, Henry. What took you so long?"

He smiled, his eyes softened, apologizing with a look he couldn't say out loud.

"It's okay; I get it." Eliza continued. "You getting legit feels?"

"That is entirely within the realm of plausibility." He brought a hand up to cup her cheek. "I believe in you, and I believe in 'us.'" And he smoothly slipped his hands again around her waist, stroking and caressing her through her shirt.

The way he was touching her was stoking something hot and elemental. "And there it is again, that smolder ..."

"I don't know what that means ..."

"It's the way you look at me sometimes ... would you like to know when I started having feelings for you?"

"Do tell." He was genuinely curious.

"You asked me to eat lunch with you, and we shared our first lunch over a trash can ..."

"... the one that's sitting here in your living room?"

She smiled. "You found it, did you? I was wondering when you were going to find it."

"Really? You left it lying around, so I'd eventually see it? A hint?"

"Uh huh. But like seriously, I def had a super big case of the feels. And I couldn't stop looking at you."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to seriously revise my score, because on a scale of 1-to-10, you're a ..."

"... better be higher, because for the record, my initial score of 6 was higher than yours ... " she warned him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

He laughed. "You're my 10, Eliza. It'll be my honor and privilege to show you every day just how true that is."

Henry led her to the couch. He sat back fully and she sat on him astride, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair. He tightened his arms around her.

"Good. I'm glad. How about you? Do you remember when you started having feelings for me?"

"Yes, I do. We had just finished babysitting Kevin, and we figured out how to save our best-selling orange elephant vitamin. We finished our presentation the following day, and you went over to join Freddy, while I had a chat with Saperstein. He made a comment about us, and there was a moment where you looked at me, and I looked at you ... and I thought, maybe ... that there was something between us. It was the spark, a hope it could come true."

"What did Saperstein say?"

"He said we'd make exquisite offspring ...

"Really! And what did you have to say to that little gem?"

"That red-headed Koreans weren't a good look ... typically."

"Typically, huh? Well, you should know I'm not typical ..." She smiled, and leaned forward.

"No, you certainly are not ..."

For the next few minutes, they focused only on kissing and on expressing what they were feeling through mouths, stroking, probing, and caressing.

"Mmmm ...," she ran her tongue across his lips. "You do realize we have a couple name: specifically, Heliza; more specifically, hashtag-Heliza."

Because it'd be completely out of character if he didn't ask, he pulled a classic 'Henry'.

"Okay, first of all, what is 'Heliza'? Second, there's a thing called couple names? Third, we have a hashtag?!"

"Relax, Henry. First of all, our names, Henry and Eliza, smushed together becomes 'Heliza'. H-E-L-I-Z-A, get it? Hell yes, to the second. Third, I want us as a couple to become a Twitter trend, even if it's just me tweeting about it. Unless ... of course ... you'd prefer I not tweet about it?"

"No, no, that's all right. I don't mind if you shout our status to the world. I know it's self-serving of me to say, but it feels good to know you want to shout us out from the rooftops. Besides, you know what you're doing with social media, and I trust you."

"Awwwwww, thank you Henry; that's super sweet of you to say."

"You're welcome. Hey, I just thought of something ..."

"What's that?"

"With Heliza, if you switch the 'i' and the 'z', that spells "Helzia", which is pronounce 'Hells-yeah!'"

She groaned then laughed. "O-M-G, that's terrible!"

His eyes opened wide, another realization giving him a humorous shock.

"What?"

"I just got it. You and Freddy were ... 'Frey-za' ... which rhymes with 'Scheisse'!"

"Awwww, Heeeennnryyyyy ... stop it ... don't mock me ... besides he's history and you're here now ..." She stuck her

lower lip out for pouty emphasis.

"OK, ok, I'll stop. And yes, I'm here. I've always be here." He reached up with his hand and teased her lower lip with his thumb. "Besides, you can't blame a noobie for trying," he smirked knowingly.

"Yeah, you're **my** lovable noobie ..."

"Well, when you put it **that** way ..."

Their second kiss was slower, relaxed, caring, intimate; nibbling on each other's lips; learning and savoring the taste and texture of each other's lips, teeth, and tongues.

She drew back, a finger on his lip. "And ... I ... I heard you. What you said to me in the bedroom."

"What? I thought you'd fallen asleep."

"Uh huh, I know." she replied affirmatively. "In the past, I often felt like I was easy to abandon. I know a lot of it isn't true. But real truth is, Henry, you gave me feels, and I wanted to hear everything you had to say to me. Without scaring you away, or scaring you from stopping. Are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad. Really, I'm not. You heard everything?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Honestly, as much as I'm terrified of screwing up, what I trust most is our friendship. A lot comes from that, and where we go is based on that solid foundation. You are the most important person in my life."

"I'm happy to hear you say that. I'm glad you're my friend: you're my best friend."

"You are too; sometimes, I think you're my **only** friend."

"I think it's safe to say we feel the same way about each other. But I still have issues about self-esteem and abandonment. " Eliza admitted. "And you have your own issues of insecurity and keeping people away. "

"I do, yes."

"So, we're really going to do this?"

"Yes, we are. I don't want to go back to the way things were," he said with conviction. "And I don't think you do, too."

"No, I don't."

"As I've been trying to tell you, Eliza ... I know you. And ... I worship you."

"I know you do." She rested her hands on his chest. "I defs don't want to go back to just friends. I want more."

"You deserve more. And I do, too."

Her lips turned up. "Yes, you do," she replied softly.

"Come on," Henry pulled on her hand. "Let's get you into bed."

"Oh really?" She waggled her eyebrows.

He laughed. "Not right now, and before you pout," as she stuck her lower lip out, "I want our first time with you fully healthy. I want you; please believe me. A lot, actually, but I also know I want you when we're both on the same page in every way ... with us as equals."

Her pout unabated, she had to give him props. "You're right. I don't like it, but you're right."

"Hol' up. Eliza Dooley, did you just say I was right?! Because I may have to mark this moment for posterity ..."

"Heeeyyy!"

"J/K ..." He couldn't stop smiling now.

"Ha-ha. You're ..." She poked him in the chest. "You're hilarious. Now stop copying my lines, and get me into bed."

"Okay. But there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I ... I love you, Eliza ... very much."

"Thank you, " she replied in a tiny whisper. "I love you, too ..."

They sealed their declaration with a slow kiss. Reluctantly, they parted.

"Henry, I'm cold. Please get me into bed ..."

"Yes, dear ..." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

They shuffled towards the bedroom. His arm was around her shoulders, hers around his waist; her head leaning against his shoulder.

Less than 48 hours later, Henry began sneezing, wheezing, and coughing. Reluctantly, he forked over a 20-dollar bill to Eliza, lying next to him in bed. At the very least, they were in his big bed this time. She was just as familiar with his place, as he was with hers. She made it a point of being at home with him, and to take good care of him.

She didn't exactly cook for him, but she got him chicken noodle soup, and when his own hacking cough improved, she got him an order of salad.

With grilled chicken on top.

Accompanied by a glass of ginger ale.

Sure, that Siri bitch was helpful and all, but looking at Henry now asleep, she couldn't imagine a better person, a better friend, a better partner. Sure, he was far from perfect, but together, they made great harmony, a winning combination.

She recognized the enormity of the last two days. The promise she made to herself - about Henry and her getting together or else - had come true. There was no "else"; there was never any other option.

She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, fingering strands of his hair on the top of his head. She lay next to him, pulling the covers over them both. She watched him sleep in wonderment and with affection. She shuffled closer and draped her arm over his chest, and listened to him breathe, until her eyes became heavy, and she fell asleep.

Minutes later, he opened his eyes to a very warm presence next to him. Gingerly, he lifted his arm out of the way, and wrapped his arm around her. She made a little purring noise in her sleep, and she moved in, tucking her head against his neck. He brushed her hair aside, and kissed her on the cheek.

_Eliza, my Ariel: to have found you, for you to want me, I'm the luckiest guy in the world._


End file.
